


stick a knife inside me (and twist it all around)

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Series: change my friends to enemies [2]
Category: The Losers (2010), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon Character of Color, Character Death Fix, Character of Color, Comics/Movie Crossover, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Death References, Disabled Character of Color, Don't Have to Know Canon, M/M, Male Character of Color, Mutant, Mutation, POV Character of Color, POV Male Character, Past Relationship(s), Rare Characters, Rare Pairing, Superpowers, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, X-Men Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one's coming for Roque. It's hard to let go of that thought even when he's in the mansion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stick a knife inside me (and twist it all around)

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a missing scene in [change my friends to enemies (show me how it's all my fault)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/434022), because I was annoyed at myself. This fic deals with the aftermath of Roque's capture and torture.

No one's coming for him—

When Roque comes back, he wakes up to that reality, sweat cold on his skin, the muscles in his left shoulder spasming no matter how tightly he clenches his fingers into a fist and grits his teeth through it. He's alone and tomorrow — today, _in the next hour_ — Max is going to bring his men and kill him again.

He rears when a hand comes out of nowhere and curls around his forearm, when a voice says, "Hey, what's wrong?" and it sounds too much like, "How should we kill you today?"

This is the only chance Roque's got, because no one's coming for him, no one's going to find him, wherever the hell he is, but the more insidious reality is that he can end this. He can stop Max, stop Clay and his team from chasing after this, and they can finally go the fuck home.

The reality is: Roque's in the mansion and Armando is beneath him. Armando's neck is rough beneath Roque's hands, and it takes a beat longer for Roque to realize how tightly he's trying to squeeze, how friendly fire doesn't require a bullet or a foreign location.

"Fuck," is all he can manage, because _fucked up_ isn't something he can imagine right now as he jerks back, moving so suddenly that he tumbles off the bed and lands on his arm. It doesn't help the goddamn spasm that travels straight to his lungs and seizes what little breath he has.

"Are you okay?" Armando asks, over and over when Roque should be the one asking _are you_ and _how the hell did you do that?_

"Roque, talk to me, man. I'm sorry. I wasn't— I'm sorry," repeats on loop until Roque says, "Stop," louder and louder until he has to bite a mouthful of the blanket to choke off what feels like a plea. It brings back another memory — plastic bag, oxygen dep, drowning — and he sucks in as much air as he can pull into his lungs, quick and cold until he's dizzy from each inhale. 

Charles had looked through his head, and Roque hadn't felt it the way he does now, picture sharp, pain so clear that he's phasing in and out, slipping through the cracks, down and down—

~*~

Roque looks at Charles and asks, "Can you do something?"

Charles looks pained, like he did when Roque said, "Let's try something I've survived," and handed him the gun. 

This time, Charles says, "I don't think that's the best option for you right now."

Roque doesn't ask, _For me or for you?_

Roque doesn't ask how many times Charles has had to dive into someone's head and take away a few memories, dive in and fix it, dive in and—

Roque doesn't ask again.

~*~

What Roque realizes pretty quickly is that Armando's always the one at his door, sliding into his space. Roque goes to Armando's room this time, leaning against the door jamb as he asks, "Are you okay?"

Armando stares at him and nods. "Yeah." He doesn't look scared when he crosses the room, invites Roque in with a small tug and asks, "Are you?"

~*~

Roque doesn't know the man's real name — he never asked — but he'll never forget that face, that sneer, that quiet, cold calm of, "How should we kill you today?"

_"How fascinating."_

_"You're quite resilient. Now if only we could recreate you."_

_"That's nice, Captain, but I don't want your secrets. I just want to know what makes you tick."_

~*~

Roque freezes before he's comprehended the question. "No."

Armando nods and tentatively sets a hand on Roque's shoulder. "Okay. I'll let her know."

~*~

Roque looks at the door and watches a note slip beneath it. It takes him three hours to pick it up. 

_I hate you, too, you big jerk_ is scrawled in large, red letters. It's signed Boom-Boom, and she's drawn a cloud around her name that Roque guesses is supposed to be an explosion. 

He knows what those are like. He's died in three of them.

~*~

"Have you eaten?" Armando asks, and touches Roque again, a hand on Roque's chest, always something small, always something Roque can't ignore. 

Since _I can't remember_ isn't an option, Roque says, "No."

"I'll get you something."

~*~

Armando has his own room, but somehow, he ends up staying in Roque's. This is after Roque woke up in the middle of the night and tried to kill him, but Armando shrugged it off, said he could adapt. 

Their mutation is different that way. Armando never has to deal with the aftermath. 

He says good night with a kiss and, "Don't worry, okay?"

The room goes dark, and then Armando slides into bed beside Roque. Roque breathes, trying to remember that sleeping and dying aren't the same at all.

He still can't close his eyes.

~*~

"It's a simple question," Scott says, facing off against the room, looking at Logan and Ororo and Armando and Jean and Charles. "Is he safe to be around?"

Everyone looks in Roque's direction. The one who gets to make that vote, though, is Charles. 

Charles, who says, "It's not that simple, Scott."

~*~

"Do you want a visitor?" Armando asks, three days after Roque's brought back to the mansion. 

Roque knows who he means. Does he want to see Tabitha? The real question is: is he ready to see Tabitha?

"No."

~*~

"Roque," Charles says gently. «You're among friends. We _will_ help you through this.»

Roque remains silent, but in his head, he laughs, as bitter and cold as the memory of being strapped to a table, of a doctor saying, "Twenty CCs. Let's see if he stabilizes."

 _Can you take it back?_ Roque doesn't ask, because no one else should be stuck in this loop. 

If Charles is in his head, he doesn't answer the question. No. Yes. Maybe.

No one's coming for him—

~*~

"I found my dad once," Armando says. He should be asleep. Roque should be, too, but sometimes, he can't remember where he is. Sometimes, he can't remember that someone came for him. "He handed me over to some guys …"

The bed dips when Armando turns onto his side, and there's just enough light for Roque to see the shadows in Armando's eyes. They can survive anything. That's not a blessing.

"It's …" Armando finds Roque's hand, squeezes tight and holds on. "I'm here, and you're here, okay?"

Roque doesn't know how he was stupid enough to think that Armando doesn't know what it's like to survive.

"Yeah," he says. "I know what you're saying."

~*~

Weeks later, when Armando asks, "Do you want to see Tabitha?"

Roque says, "Yeah," because he respects the fact that Armando's asking, that Tabitha was willing to wait. 

She calls him stupid, but she hugs him. Armando hugs him, too.

Roque's always kept his distance, but he thinks he gets it now. For the first time, he's got something to hold on to.

~*~

When Max had him, Roque thought—

No one's coming for him.

No one's coming for him, but this time, it's true.

He's wrong.

Clay comes for him. The team finds him, but what's also true: they're too late.

Clay pulls the trigger like that'll change the facts. He pulls and pulls and pulls, and Aisha gets her turn, too, while Jensen throws words, says, "Fuck you," as final as a good-bye.

Roque doesn't flinch. The last truth he tells them is, "I tried."

In spite of their training to persevere and make do. His place at the mansion, his hand in Armando's — it's not making do. 

So there's no more room for explanations, no place for, "We're not soldiers anymore," in the gap of Cougar's silence and Pooch's glare and Aisha's promise that she'll get him next time. 

The only thing left is telling Clay, "I'm not yours anymore, man," but Roque keeps it silent, because he knows that, like the team, it's come too late.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack White's new album Blunderbuss inspired the title for this fic, too. The title is a lyric from his song "Love Interruption."


End file.
